Mournings and Warnings
by TheOwlMoth
Summary: After being cheated on, Eliza turns to John for comfort. (This is an AU where John is still alive during the affair and he knows Eliza a little bit, because I lowkey ship these two.)


**Okay, okay, I know Johnliza/Laurliza is not a very common ship among the fandom, especially since these two characters never interact. But, in my defense, people ship Mariah, the woman who literally had an affair with Eliza's husband, with Eliza herself, which honestly makes zero sense. Lams doesn't make sense to me, either, since I see Laurens and Hamilton more as best friends that always hang out together in school. Hamliza is the top ship, we all know that. But I wanted to try something new with this. **

**This ship is not a commonality, which means its stories are going to be even more of a rarity. It's truly underrated. John and Eliza would be cute together, and I feel like some shipping stories could actually work. On the contrary, Eliza is already married to Hamilton in the time this one-shot takes place. So I decided to not make it so that John and Eliza are romantically interested in one another, but so that Eliza turns to John for comfort after Alexander cheats on her. ****This is an AU where John is still alive in the time Hamilton has his affair and is acquainted with Eliza. **

**Feel free to criticize this and give feedback; I know this is definitely not my best work. With that said, sit back, relax, and enjoy some cute hurt and comfort fluff between two of the most adorable characters in this musical. **

It says a lot when you're the best of women and your husband cheats on you.

But John Laurens had no concern for affairs on a warm summer evening. He was hard at work, writing essays against slavery, his quill swinging to and fro at his desk. Sweat trickled down his brow and speckled his face in salt, but he persisted in his fight against immorality. He had not been suspecting a single thing, he had only expected to be left alone for a late night's work of essays, and to go to bed at midnight with no wife to say good night to.

Laurens was a friendly man. His best friend, Alexander Hamilton, had been slightly rougher and more outgoing than he was, though the two were very close friends who fought in the Revolutionary War together. Each essay they wrote, each battle they fought was all a test of their bravery—and even better—their friendship.

The will to keep his friend's reputation for writing and fighting against slavery kept Laurens going. A candle was aflame next to his hand, so he stared at the wax that melted down with the small fire. Soon, he thought, soon, they'd be free and slavery would no longer challenge human rights. It was only a matter of time before the most immoral thing was abolished from the young nation forever.

Laurens' head was rushing with blood. His eyes were baggy and dark as night. His senses were giving in—

_Knock, knock, knock._

Laurens froze. Carefully, he set his quill down, grabbed the candle's tray and hurried down the stairs of his home to get the door.

He reached for the silver knob on the door and wondered who it could have possibly been. At the time, he hadn't known too many folks; he had closely known three men named Marquis de Lafayette, Hercules Mulligan, and of course, Alexander Hamilton. Then there was George Washington, a general he worked for years ago. Laurens also sort of knew the Schuyler sisters, particularly the eldest, Angelica, and Hamilton's wife, Eliza, but there was no way she could have been at the door.

However, when he opened it, he was surprised.

Mrs. Eliza Hamilton was standing there at the door, a comfortable shawl on her shoulders, sweat and tears staining her face, dark brown hair frizzy, and a very pale face. Laurens could visibly see tears filling her eyes to the brim, only to overflow and take their journeys down Eliza's soft cheeks. Her blue dress was lovely as ever, but her face was a whole different story.

"Um . . . Mrs. Hamilton? What are you doing here?" John asked politely. "You look very ill."

"Hello, Mr. Laurens," Eliza greeted, trying to hold back a sob. "I would not like anyone who's unaware to hear—will you allow me inside?"

Hastily, John opened the door wider for her to enter. Eliza accepted the offer to enter the building and relaxed her shoulders. The shawl she used to cover her shoulders was taken into Laurens' hands, and she was invited to sit on a patched couch in the main room with a warm fireplace.

As soon as she was settled, she burst out in tears and short sobs.

"Elizabeth, what's wrong?" John hastily set down the candle and rushed to her side, placing a hand on her shoulder. She had buried her face in her hands, but John could tell that her ears were red and hot. He kept his hand on her shoulder patiently.

Eliza's shoulders tensed up once more as she solemnly stared at the floor. "My husband," she mumbled. "Alexander Hamilton . . . He broke his promise of loyalty . . . He published the letters his mistress wrote him, and paid her. On the day of our wedding, I remember him saying these words: 'As long as I'm alive, Eliza, I swear to God, you'll never feel so helpless.' But now, I feel more helpless than I have ever been."

Laurens went quiet. He instantly understood what Eliza meant. His best friend, Alexander, had had an affair, and left behind one of his greatest treasures: his wife. Even Laurens himself had known the great value Eliza held in Hamilton's heart—they had been married for years. And now, Hamilton had thrown away a loving, patient, and generous wife, all for a woman who was mildly attractive. If John had been in Alexander's shoes, he would have simply remembered the treasured diamond he married so long ago.

"And now . . . I must survive without Alexander's help," Eliza said finally.

"He . . ." Laurens was speechless. He had never imagined Alexander doing something so immoral, so inhuman. The average human would have remembered that he or she had a spouse to be cared for, children to love, and simply said no to the opportunity to commit adultery. Yet, Hamilton did it. John knew that he was impulsive and often acted before thinking, but he could never imagine someone cheating on a precious woman such as Eliza.

"I don't know if I should keep the letters he wrote to me. He wrote me novels of letters, palaces of paragraphs, each word was a brick of our bond . . ."

"Shh. It's alright, Eliza." Laurens took her upper body into his arms. To his surprise, she openly accepted the affections of her husband's friend, another man who didn't even know her so well, yet knew her sensitivity more than her real husband. Laurens allowed Eliza to sob into his shoulders (it was one of his favorite shirts). He gently rocked back and forth to soothe her, but the torrents of tears rushed past barricading eyelids.

"His letters might have redeemed him," whispered Eliza after a few minutes. "But he wrote so many more to his mistress. His promise of loyalty was a fallacy. I don't know if I was good enough for him, John . . ."

"Eliza," John said firmly, pushing her off of him and gripping her shoulders. "If Alexander sees a diamond behind a glass case and chooses the glass instead of the diamond, he is the one who must really prove himself to be an honorable man. Not you."

Eliza sniffed, her tears suddenly coming to a halt.

"He had more commitment to the legacy he wanted than the woman he married."

"Elizabeth."

"Oh, John, every word he wrote left me defenseless, I had spent hours at my desk thinking of one word to respond with . . . Our marriage has been torn to pieces, burned, destroyed . . ."

"Eliza."

The poor woman sadly directed her head toward John's.

John took a slow approach at taking her hands into his own. They were so much smaller, so much softer, and so much warmer than his own . . . The gentlest hands, certainly. He squeezed them with light pressure, hoping that Eliza felt secure in his touch.

"Listen to me, Eliza," said John, his voice more soothing than a mother whispering to her child. "Please listen. My association with Hamilton is nothing more than being a friend to him, someone who would never stab his back, despite the circumstance. I cannot hate Hamilton, nor can I be angry at him for an affair I know nothing about. Eliza, you have every right to be angry . . . Your patience is untestable, and your kindness goes to its full extent. I cannot he angry with Alexander; all I can do is sympathize with those who are hurt by his actions."

Eliza blinked at him. In his eyes, she saw a part of Alexander. She saw part of her first son, Philip, as well. The thing that all three of them had in common was the way they made Eliza feel: like she was valued. What was different was that Eliza could still look in Laurens' eyes with confidence, while she could not do that anymore with her husband. Laurens' eyes were so gentle and understanding; they made Eliza want to be engulfed in their everlasting beauty.

She leaned over and cried into his chest. Laurens welcomed the tears, with not a care of how soaked his best shirt was. His heart was melting. A woman who loved so many people, her sisters, her father, her friends, came to him, of all people. A diamond in a world of ash-cloaked coal was crying on him in her ugliest state, the ugliest she could have ever been.

"John," Eliza said quietly, her mouth muffled by the man's shirt. "I am not angry. I am upset. I wanted to burn the letters, I wanted to abolish them from my life and erase my name from his life. They aren't so special anymore because he has been writing the same letters to others since the start of his time." She brought her head up. "I am not asking you to punish him, I don't want anyone to . . . I am hoping that he'll—he'll—"

Eliza burst into breaking sobs again.

"Oh, Eliza . . ." Laurens said, giving in to sadness. A tear rolled down his cheek. The great sadness seemed to be getting to him, until at last, he was crying at the same level as Eliza, resting his head on hers and stroking her back. Eliza wrapped her arms around him, and in a very short time, they were both crying in each other's arms. Every soft sniffle from Laurens let Eliza know his compassion, just as her deep breathing allowed Laurens to know what emotional damage the affair had on her heart.

With a nasty sniffle, Eliza raised her head. The corners of her lips trembled, as she held a gentle hand up to Laurens' face, caressing his cheek with her thumb. "You . . . You're like my son. Almost identical. He has the same passion, the same purity I'd always thought my husband had. Philip is strong, he honors his father and presents a bold mind."

"Your son must be worth honoring, then," Laurens said, taking Eliza's other hand.

"H-he definitely is . . . My only hope is that Philip hasn't been broken as I have been."

John's eyes widened. "Huh, your marriage really broke, didn't it," he whispered, lowering his eyelids.

Eliza nodded gravely. Her eyes grew misty, and as much as she tried to suppress her tears, they kept streaming down like flooding waterfalls.

"Don't cry, Eliza, please . . ."

"Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf . . ."

"Eliza—You're counting."

Eliza tucked her thick, dark hair behind her ears. "Counting in French reminds me of my Philip. We played piano, he changed the melody of the song every time . . ."

"Sept, huit, neuf . . ." John sang under his breath, the melody different from what Eliza expected.

The corners of Eliza's lips curled. "Sept, huit, neuf . . ."

"Sept, huit, neuf . . ." John sang in the correct melody.

"Good . . . Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf."

John went silent. He stared into Eliza's brown eyes, smiling innocently to encourage her to smile herself. Eliza couldn't help but to form a trembling curl of the lips, still crying her eyes out. Sobbing softly, she rammed her head into John's chest and squeezed him tight, so tight that he thought she'd never let go. He felt a strange warmth from the woman that he had never felt from anyone else. No one had given him this kind of affection before. This was a woman who he barely knew, yet she was already so willing to make him feel needed, feel wanted.

John embosomed Eliza much more gently—and for someone about five inches shorter than he was, she was very strong. Eliza held him like she'd held Alexander on the day of their marriage, with benignancy, with devotion and compassion. John noticed how it was her who had the greater misfortune than him, but how willing she was to supply him with all the passion she had. He knew that Eliza had an entire family, children to care for, but was becoming very certain that an affair was not going to interrupt her connections to her children.

"Eliza, you are a strong woman," Laurens reassured her. "And you also give excellent embrace." He lifted her chin with his gentle fingertips. "I cannot take back what Alexander has done. Nobody can. All we can do is stay strong. Just do that for me, Eliza. Don't crumble . . . We can't have the kindest women decaying from affairs."

Eliza smiled. She held her shaking hand up to John's cheek again. "Just like Philip," she whispered, her tears coming to a sudden stop.

To Laurens' surprise, Eliza tugged the collar of his shirt, landing his cheek right on her lips. John's freckled face glowed hot red as Eliza put her gentle hand on him. Finally able to embrace Eliza's affection, he firmly grasped her waist and lifted her into the air, twirling around like they were in a ballroom.

When Laurens set her down, Eliza caressed him once more and gently squeezed him, burrowing her head into his chest. "Thank you, John," she sniffled, peering up at his face. "Thank you, so much . . ."

"Y-you're welcome, m'lady," Laurens stuttered nervously, rubbing the back of his head.

Eliza sighed and let the moisture of misty eyes lessen. "I must be going now. I cannot stay out too terribly late." She turned to the building's door.

"Wait, Eliza."

She turned back around.

"You are an incredible woman. Just, don't ever break . . . Please."

Eliza nodded, then finally stepped out the door, waving one last goodbye.

Laurens shut the door behind her. But the atmosphere seemed to instantly change. The room became dimmer, and the temperature dropped a few degrees. John solemnly looked back at his couch.

Eliza's comfortable shawl was still there, draped over the back cushions.

John seized the shawl and bolted out his door, waving it like a war flag. "Eliza! You forgot your—"

Not a single soul roamed the street.

**Yeah. . . . Just some fluff. I wrote this months ago, back in July of 2019. So, recent but not. . . . I'd appreciate some criticism, and if there was anything you liked, feel free to tell me what I did well so I know what to implement in my future stories. **


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